


The Cost of Happiness, Freedom, and Other Things

by Umbrella_ella



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-War, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbrella_ella/pseuds/Umbrella_ella
Summary: Hermione Granger took a sip of her tea, long since bitter on her tongue and she stared down at the Daily Prophet's front page, sensational news splashed across the front page in black and white. Mr. and Mrs. Brown stared up at her balefully as the Wizengamot debated in colorless fervor. 'WAR HERO POTTER FAILS IN BID TO KEEP GREYBACK IN AZKABAN', drifted across the page, looping and swirling in between the smaller text as the photograph looped again and again, Mrs. Brown burying her face into a handkerchief as the verdict rang out. Hermione scoffed, and, with a quick flick of her wand, watched as the paper went up in flames._In a universe where the Ministry of Magic is seen as incompetent in it's dealings with Death Eaters, Hermione must protect the one man the post-War Wizarding World will surely want dead, Severus Snape.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	The Cost of Happiness, Freedom, and Other Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaomiJameston](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiJameston/gifts).
  * Inspired by [100 Drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140323) by [NaomiJameston](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiJameston/pseuds/NaomiJameston). 



Hermione Granger took a sip of her tea, long since bitter on her tongue and she stared down at the Daily Prophet's front page, sensational news splashed across the front page in black and white. Mr. and Mrs. Brown stared up at her balefully as the Wizengamot debated in colorless fervor.

'WAR HERO POTTER FAILS IN BID TO KEEP GREYBACK IN AZKABAN', drifted across the page, looping and swirling in between the smaller text as the photograph looped again and again, Mrs. Brown burying her face into a handkerchief as the verdict rang out. Hermione scoffed, and, with a quick flick of her wand, watched as the paper went up in flames.

Harry would be angry, undoubtedly, as was within his rights, and Hermione along with him. She had seen what Greyback had done to Lavender Brown, and it was beyond horrid; it was unspeakable. Even now, on the lonelier nights that plagued her far too often, she could smell the iron tang of blood in the air and see the lifeless eyes of one after another of her schoolmates, and Hermione would lay there, staring into nothing until the sun rose, cold and unforgiving, and it was time to begin another day.

Her job had been admittedly easy to get after the War, but she'd insisted on sitting for her NEWTS.

Her job in the Magical Creature Liason Department of the Ministry of Magic was challenging in its own ways, but often she worked later than her best friends. Ron and Harry had taken up the mantle of youngest Aurors on the force, but had quickly surpassed their reputations. Hermione, however, had taken delight in her work. It was quieter, far from the limelight of fame and her own reputation. Brightest Witch of Her Age be damned, she would make her own way in the world. Hermione sighed, her temples aching with the start of a migraine, when a Ministry memo flew through the door to the small office, very nearly knocking over a precariously balanced pile of various memos, papers, and reports. Her frown lightened at the familiar scrawl that greeted her as she unfurled the parchment.

Harry Potter waited for her in the Ministry foyer, the black tiles shining green with Floo networks, memos whizzing to and fro, the bustle of workers a constant hum in the background as she greeted one of her oldest friends with an embrace. An overeager young Wizard bumped into Hermione as she parted from Harry, a quick ' _sorry_ ' falling from startled lips. 

"Harry," she trilled, "How are you?"

"Well," Harry mussed his hair in the familiar way that reminded her so of their childhood, his green sweater pushed up at the sleeves, "I haven't asked Ginny to marry me yet, if that's what you're asking."

Hermione laughed, taking Harry's arm as they crossed to an open Floo network. A moment later, they appeared in the Leaky Cauldron, and Hermione was prepared to sit, but Harry took her hand and tugged her into the open, brisk winter air of Muggle London. Rain came down in a torrent, an ugly slush puddling in the streets, and workers rushed here and there, most with briefcases, bound for the office buildings which unknowingly sandwiched The Leaky Cauldron between their narrow buildings. Hermione was puzzled then, unsure of Harry’s goal, but content to follow him into the world they’d grown up in.

It was only when they were seated in a diner off of the main road, tucked away, with coffee in front of them and Harry sitting stiffly in front of her, that Hermione dared ask, "Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry's brow furrowed, knitted together in frustration as he scrubbed a hand across his tired face, and Hermione saw that the War had done him no favors, and neither had his recent misgivings with the Wizengamot, because he looked so very tired. She had hoped that perhaps the young man might find some peace in the year since the War, but no such luck was to be had, apparently.

"Hermione, have you seen the papers lately?" Harry asked.

Hermione had, and Harry had likely asked in a conversational manner. He knew she kept up on all things newsworthy, years of fighting Voldemort making it an ingrained habit.

"I have, but Harry, what is this about? What are we doing here?"

The place gave Hermione the worst sort of vibe, but their last encounter in a Muggle cafe was nothing short of terrifying. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as Harry took a deep breath.

"I can't-- You're the only one I can trust to do this right, Hermione. Ron is, well, he won't like the assignment, and his current case has him deep undercover anyway. I need you, Hermione," and Harry's voice made Hermione's heart ache with a need to soothe whatever ailed him.

Hermione reached out for him, her hand on his own, and squeezed.

"How can I help?"

"Severus Snape. I need you to take him, to keep him safe, Hermione. He's in danger from certain people, from those that want to see him dead. People think the Ministry is incompetent, and frankly, with the way they bungled the Greyback trial, I'm not surprised, but I'm afraid they might take matters into their own hands."

Hermione swallowed at that. After all, it had been her that had saved him that night in the Shrieking Shack, her that had cast the spells that stitched his skin back together, her that had tipped the vial of antivenin down his throat and had whispered of a happy future, her words promising things that would not come true. Hermione Granger was not one to give up, and she wouldn't start now.

"What do you need me to do, Harry?"

"Keep him safe, please, Hermione. He can’t do magic, not while in custody, so he’ll need to be protected. Snape needs someone, anyone, but you're the only one I know that can keep people hidden, off the grid, safe. He is the lynch-pin witness in June's case, but there are rumors of people gathering a militia."

"What is the Ministry doing about these people, Harry?" she asked, suddenly incensed.

"There nothing the Ministry can do, not until we can find out who is behind this all."

Harry growled out a curseword as he grit his teeth, the steam from the coffee fogging his glasses. 

"I can give you a key to a safe house, but you'll have to ward it. Against everyone, Hermione. Myself included. No one can know where you are, not even me."

Harry slid a metal key across the table, and Hermione took it, tucking it into her pocket. Hermione Granger was not one to say no to a friend in need, and from the look on Harry's face, he needed her a great deal.

* * *

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon packing and bidding goodbye to the only home outside of Hogwarts that she’d known in the magical world, Harry having taken care of the requisite paperwork at the Ministry for her. Her trunk was filled with books, papers from her work on Goblin Rights and Cultural Practices, and robes, as well as her potions stores. As it was, Hermione doubted Severus Snape would have access to a great deal of recreational materials, even in the months in hiding, and Hermione wanted to give him whatever comforts she could.

She thumbed through the stack of academic journals on her bedstand, tugging out a few well-worn copies of _Potions Academia_ from the pile and stuffing them in her rucksack.

She had not seen Severus Snape since the night he had been taken into Ministry protective custody, nearly a year ago, when she had watched him leave the St. Mungo's ward, the Aurors flanking him as he left, with only a swift glance of black eyes bestowed upon her. Hermione could not help but wonder what he would be like now, whether his demeanor might still soften at the sight of her as it had in the corridors of St. Mungo's, free of the weight of the war, sallow skin brightening, even in the harsh light of the hospital.

Hermione had written to him, of course, but responses never came, and she recalled with a distinct pang the months that she had waited by her window for some glimpse of an owl or two, only to be met with marked disappointment. But then, she reasoned, the files in question were classified, and it was only due to Harry’s reasonable nature that she knew that he was being held in Azkaban awaiting to lend his personal story to a trial that would, hopefully, set him free.

That was no longer the case. In a matter of hours, she would see him once more, and she wondered, not for the first time, what she might say to him. 

Her trunk was full, the packing taking not even an hour, and she took one last look around the small flat. Her life was here, small and simple though it was, and she was loathe to leave it. Her Christmas lights still hung in the window, holly on the mantle of the tiny fireplace she used to get to and from the Ministry, alongside a photo of her and her parents, well-tanned by the Australia sun. Crookshanks mewled needily, and twined his way through her legs. She scooped him up, pressed a kiss to the top of his furry head, and Disapparated.

* * *

Three hours later, the sun dipping low on the grey horizon, Hermione swiped at her brow, the slick of cold sweat threatening to drip into her eyes. The Scottish countryside was beautiful, even in the dead of winter, and Hermione was caught in memories of her time at Hogwarts, of rare glimpses of sunshine reflecting off of the Black lake, and her heart was at peace. Dead heather and brush teased at her ankles as she crested the low hill. Her robes blustered around her, her skin prickling at the wind and the snowdrifts. 

Harry met her at the agreed upon point, his hand clasped firmly around the elbow of one surly former Potions Master. Severus Snape was a formidable sort, he always had been, though his stay in Ministry custody had apparently hardened him further, and it was as though his face was stone, his frown permanently etched. His eyes were dark and disinterested, though as she came into view, watched her carefully.

Hermione shifted her rucksack over her shoulder, hefting it as the rattle of her shrunken trunk and various materials sounded in the brisk country air.

“Sorry for the wait,” she remarked, not expecting an answer, though Severus stepped forward, his lean frame looking as though he might blow away, even as the wind buffeted his loose-fitting button-up. He drew his cloak around him, and in the January wind, his lank hair did nothing to hide the sharp angles of his face. She welcomed the sight of him, stark and staunch against the Scottish hillsides.

He stood, tall and unforgiving, against the wind, his cloak rippling, and it was only the slightest inclination of his head that told her he had heard her.

Minutes had passed, and the two of them were tucked into the old farmstead, Harry having bade them farewell on the hilltop, promising that should she need him, she could call upon him. Hermione thumbed the smooth gold of the D.A. galleon, the touch of the familiar bringing a small piece of comfort to her. The kitchen was bare, save for cupboards stocked with various goods, the plastered ceiling peeling in some spots, and Severus rummaged through the pantry.

Hermione tried not to look at him. It was as though it were a sin, of sorts, to see him like this. He was lean, surely, but bony and sallow in a way he had not been, even in his time at Hogwarts. His knobby knees creaked and popped as he stooped to retrieve some canned goods. Severus had seen better times, and despite the logical frame of mind she found herself reasoning within, Hermione tasted bitter guilt at the back of her throat.

She should have visited him, despite the Ministry’s firm resolution that no visitors were to be allowed to converse with those in custody.

Hermione Granger was a clever woman, after all.

His cloak lay draped over an old settee, sure to collapse at the slightest weight, and Hermione watched him move about the room.

“Can I help you, Granger?”

A pang of sadness stung her skin as though she’d been slapped. They’d once been on a first name basis, but Severus Snape deserved his anger.

“I wrote you, you know, every week. For months.” It was not what she had intended to say, not at all, and Hermione swallowed thickly at the unexpected admission, the words hanging in the air between them, stiff and tentative, as Severus considered her. Even without his proper robes that dictated his role as Potions Master, he still loomed large and very imposing in front of her, the tiny kitchen feeling even smaller. His sleeves were tucked up beyond his forearms, and she could see the ink of his Dark Mark snaking across his pale forearm, faded and greying, and she wondered briefly if it still stung.

Severus noticed, then, his black eyes narrowing, and he turned away from her.

“I will not be another project, Granger.”

His back was narrow, and she could see the taut lines of his muscles as he braced himself against whatever words she might say. Instead, Hermione could say nothing. Her palms were cool against his shirt, and Severus flinched for a moment, his back still taut. He made no move to rebuff her.

“You deserved more, Severus,” she spoke, daring to use his first name as she had for the weeks during his stay in St. Mungo’s, “You _deserve_ more.”

With that she left him, levitating her trunk up the stairs of the farmhouse, not daring to look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Be kind, leave a kudos, and if you're feeling especially giving, a comment!


End file.
